“I've been thinking—” said his father, slowly.
“No sister of mine shall go about rolling herself in the dust at that fellow's feet if I can help it.”
“I've been thinking—would you lock her in her chamber a spell?”
“Lock Madelon in her chamber! She'd get out or she'd beat her brains out against the wall.”
“I don't know but she would,” assented David, perplexedly. “You can't count on a woman when they rise up. She might go away a spell.”
“Where?”
“We might send her somewhere.”
Eugene laughed. The roan mare was pawing in her stall. Now and then she pounded the floor with a clattering thud like an iron flail.
“How far do you suppose that mare would go if you tried to send her anywhere?” he asked.
“Maybe Madelon wouldn't go.”